


got our wires crossed

by mediocretrombone



Category: Alien Series, Alien: Resurrection (1997)
Genre: Call is a useless lesbian, F/F, Misunderstandings, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 20:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediocretrombone/pseuds/mediocretrombone
Summary: Call thinks she wants to stay here forever.
Relationships: Annalee Call/Ellen Ripley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 82





	got our wires crossed

**Author's Note:**

> written for the femslashficlets janelle monae lyrics prompt table, #14 - 'dance in the trees paint mysteries.' this was gonna about life on Earth and actually relate to the prompt, but instead I just wrote them making out. oops?

Earth is far more beautiful than it has any right to be. 

Sure, Johner was right when he called it a shithole; it is, undeniably. There’s a reason why no-one lives here by choice. It’s borderline inhabitable, desolate and ruined by years of human violence, whether it be war or pollution. 

And yet, Call adores it. She’s spent her whole life in factories and ships. Earth is so _ green, _so vibrant it makes her eyes ache a little, her processors that are usually so quickfire struggling to take it in. Being overwhelmed like that is so unusual, so— thrilling. 

They can’t stay on Earth, of course, resources scarce and all of them a little twitchy at being kept in one place for so long. And it’s not as if they can live in their wreckage of a ship, living off rations. But it’s taking a little time to scrounge up a new ship, or find a ride off the planet. Johner’s been going about threatening shady merchants, with Vriess there to keep too much blood from being shed, and Call’s been scouting out the wastelands to scavenge for parts, or anything else of use, with a quiet, strangely contented Ripley beside her. 

Ripley hasn’t seen anything but the inside of a ship either. Call would think that, like her, she’s transfixed on Earth’s colourful, wild beauty, but Ripley spends most of her time looking at her with dark, hungry eyes. 

And, well— Ripley’s always looked at her like that, from the very beginning when they were one wrong step away from killing each other. So Call comes to the assumption that she doesn’t trust her, that maybe she’s wary that Call’s going to finish the job she came to do. And that stings, because Call had abandoned that mission pretty damn quickly— around the time they stumbled into that lab with the grotesque, distorted bodies and Ripley had got this haunted look in those dark eyes of hers, anguish rolling off her in waves, the first emotion Call had seen from her since they’d met. The irony of it, a robot with a bleeding heart, but something shifted then, Ripley no longer a monster to her, and Call_ cared. _

So, yeah, Call’s a little hurt, spends a few days sullen and silent, until Ripley— unsurprisingly, not the paragon of patience— prowls into her quarters with intent, catches her by the arm and crowds her against a wall.

“What’s your problem?” she asks, their faces too close, that predatory look in her eyes and that half-smile that makes Call’s sensory processors go a little electric. Ripley sounds more amused than pissed and even as she traps Call in with her arms— those damn arms— her stance is more languid than threatening, her titled head making her look almost _ casual_. 

“What’s _ your _problem?” Call shoots back, agitated and her overheated processors making her even more so. 

Ripley tilts her head even further, her dark eyes bright with a delighted sort of confusion. “Problem?” 

“Yeah,_ problem_. You think I don’t notice you watching me like I’m a fucking dog about to go rabid and attack you?” 

Ripley blinks and then, abruptly, _ laughs_. Call doesn’t think she’s ever heard her laugh before and it’s a rough, dangerous sound. It’s thrilling. It pisses Call off. 

“What’s so fucking funny?” Call bristles and everything about her feels overheated, oversensitive, _ raw. _ It hurts, almost, just like it hurts that her and Ripley have apparently walked ten steps back and are at each other’s throats again. She _ likes _ Ripley, likes the predatory way she moves, likes how aggressively protective she is, likes the way she makes Call feel less lonely. She doesn’t want to be alone again. 

“You,” Ripley replies, voice low, and her smile’s gone, the hungry look back; Call feels like she could fall into those dark eyes, like they could devour her whole. Ripley’s closer now, close enough that Call doesn’t know where to look. “So smart, and yet so…” 

With one hand still caging her in, Ripley brings the other to stroke Call’s cheek, so gentle Call trembles a little. Call desperately wants to be defensive, angry, demand answers, but Ripley gives them to her for free. 

“Perhaps I want you to attack me,” she says, quiet and delighted like it’s a secret they’re sharing. Call is briefly bewildered, before her brain catches up, remembers what she’d said before, and then halts abruptly again, stuttering on the implications of that and how the hell to respond. 

“I’m not a dog,” Call’s mouth says, dumbly, without her permission, and to shut herself up, she grabs two fistfuls of Ripley’s tank top and crushes their lips together.

Ripley’s smiling a little into the kiss and, between that and Call’s frustrated, clumsy aggression, the kiss is awkward, all teeth and sharp angles. But then, Ripley crowds even closer and Call moves her head a little to accommodate her and then— and then it’s _ right, _everything falling into place, and Call feels like maybe this is where she belongs. 

When Ripley finally pulls back, presumably for air, her pupils are blown wide and she’s full-on grinning now, all teeth and wolfish delight. Call feels dizzy, breathless and startlingly human. Like every part of her is working to keep her functioning and somehow still falling. Like her processors are fried and she’s going to _ combust_. And for some reason, she likes it. Loves it, even. Doesn’t want it to stop. 

Well. It’s not like she’s ever been a logical synthetic and she’s sure as hell not going to start now.

“Problem?” Ripley repeats, smug and more expressive than Call’s ever seen her. Call adores it, all the anger that was in her system before replaced with affection. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Call says, all exasperated fondness and stifled laughter, and drags her back into a kiss.

Turns out Earth isn’t the only beautiful thing capable of overwhelming her. Unlike Earth though, Call thinks she wants to stay here forever.


End file.
